Fighting Back
by holycricket
Summary: Post Catching Fire. My take on what could have happened if Peeta was rescued with Katniss and wasn't hijacked. Obvious spoilers for all three books as I'll try and keep it as canon as possible. Rated T  for violence and possible language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – **My first fanfiction :3 so be nice, yeah? It's just something I couldn't get out of my head, so I wrote it. Hope you like it :)

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I'm running through the jungle, rich green vines whip out and try to grab me as I pass. In the distance, I can see a shimmering pool of water, but the way it almost sways tells me it's not real – a mirage. A trick that I'm playing on myself; that if I keep running I can find water, I can survive. So I'll keep running, because a part of me believes it's worth it. A flash of blond hair blinds me for a second, momentarily immobilising me. My head whips round in a search, scouting out the face that is so familiar to me now. I can't find him, I can't move.

It's like being back at home in the woods, being deadly still so that the game will come to you. Sure enough, a few leaves crack and I slowly turn. But it's not a rabbit for me to kill, skin, eat – it's a snake. A long, slender grey snake that I know is not real, it's a warning. A Gamemaker's creation, a taunt, a risk. All of a sudden it lashes towards me, mouth open, but I still can't move. I close my eyes to wait for the end, one ghost of a name forming on my lips - a warning to him. It's the least I can do after all of this. Nothing happens, no sound forms and I feel no pain. Is this what it feels like, to die? My nostrils are filled with the sickening stench of roses and blood – I can almost taste it. When I open my eyes there is no snake, no jungle. Just a perfect white rose out on the ground in front of me, blending in with the endless white of the floor, the walls.

Ignoring the prick of the thorns in my hands, I grab the rose only to throw it to the ground. I stamp on it, grab it again, rip off the petals. Slowly, the smell of the rose dims as I destroy it, but I can't stop the blood. I turn around in the vacant white to see the real snake, cold eyes only inches away from me. "Convince me," he whispers, rippling shivers down my spine. I am frozen, I am an Avox mute. I am going to die. I could be dead already. I don't feel any regret, any sadness whatsoever. I've had a long time to prepare myself for death. I decided a long time ago that I would die to save Peeta.

Then I hear his voice, kind as ever from above, but for the first time it fills my heart with dread. "No-" I screech, turning from Snow, running. "Run, Peeta, go!" I scream, caw, yell for him to leave. I haven't been through all of this to have him die, too. "Katniss," he repeats, kindly, reassuringly. "It's okay." Now, he's walking towards me and steps in behind Snow, smiling as though nothing is wrong. Slowly, deliberately, Snow places his arm around Peeta, _my_ Peeta, in a half embrace. Then it hits me – Peeta is not in danger. He is with the snake. And then I collapse.

"Katniss," his voice comes back again, but now I am in his arms. I look up at him, an empty stare, terror plastered all over my face. "It's okay," he repeats again, in the same voice as before, and I freeze. The last time I heard him say that, nothing was okay. "It was just a dream," he says soothingly, pulling me closer. I relax a little, still not entirely convinced, and in return a small smile stretches across his face. "You were screaming," he tells me. "Said my name a few times, too," the worry has gone from his face now, replaced with a light tease. My Peeta is back.

For the first time, I breathe, relax and snuggle into his shoulder. Peeta would never take Snow's side – it was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. I don't need to say anything to show my gratitude to him, for being there to make the pain go away. I know it is enough for him, me being here. My life comes flooding back as the nightmare fades away, and I grimace slightly, hoping he doesn't notice. Life in Thirteen isn't so bad, but the constant company of both Gale and Peeta is excruciating. It always seems to me as though I am the only person that notices the tense atmosphere, although I wish I didn't.

How could I miss it? I've been through so much with both of them that I know them inside out – I know what jealously looks like. The worst thing is that I know exactly what they both want, how to stop the obvious pain that spreads across their faces when they see me with the other. But I love them both; I can't hurt either of them. I can't live without either of them. _You can live without Gale_, a voice in my head whispers. _You already have_. But I know that's not true. Gale gave me everything by keeping my family alive – I owe him for them several times over. Peeta, on the other hand, has saved mine countless amounts of time, not to mention my family's with the bread. I will never stop owing either of them, and my debt increases everyday that I treat them like this.

I know it's wrong to go on this way; keeping both of them in the dark whilst I pretend to be Peeta's lover to the rest of the world. I pull him closer and burrow my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. It still calms me, just as it did in the games. He's always been there to protect me, to make me feel safe. I went into the arena for the second time to protect him for once; to die for him. A final sacrifice for the one person that I know is better than all of this; who I could only aspire to be like. Peeta. Haymitch's words flash in my head, a reminder of something I am all too aware of. _You could do a lot worse_.

With a sigh, I pull away from him abruptly and get out of the bed. Each time I wake up or see either of them the same things run through my head and I'm powerless to stop them. Peeta and I have been through a lot, but can that really match the bond that Gale and I share? The one that took years to forge, built up by a union we both needed to survive. I am almost certain that if my little sister had never been reaped, we would be together by now.

Isn't that why I'm here? To fight for the freedom we deserve, for the life I should have had, could have had without Snow's games. I didn't join the rebellion for the food, that's for certain. If I had never been a tribute, never had cause to be, I would be waking up next to Gale. We would hunt every Sunday and share the food out to our families, then eat together. I would feel free to marry him, bear his children without fear of them being taken for the Capitol's twisted entertainment. I would be free.

Yet somewhere deep down I know this lifestyle is no longer an option. I'll never have children. If I were to I'd never stop fearing for their safety - I think I would go mad with paranoia, belief that the President would take my family away from me. I will never stop fearing for my loved ones. These games, this system has robbed me of my humanity; it's something I'll never get back.

I say a quick goodbye to Peeta and head back to my own quarters. For some reason, they didn't room me with my family - I think it's supposed to be a compliment. This is their way of acknowledging that I have been through so much that it would be wrong to call me a child now; not that I don't agree with them. I can certainly stay in a room of my own without the hassle of a parent. Still, I barely spend any time in the place. I'll go to see Prim or Gale in reflection and I almost always stay overnight in Peeta's room. I don't like to be alone, it reminds me too much of the arena. Everything reminds me of the games. I'll never escape them.

I hold my arm out, waiting to be stamped with the orders I'll never follow. The inked schedule on my wrist is becoming a little bit of a joke now – I almost go out of my way to do the complete opposite of what it demands of me. I haven't been here for long, though. Eventually they will stop treating me differently and I'll have to follow it. I know I'm bending the rules, the way of life here, but then again I never was one for doing as I'm told Surely they should know that by now. This time, though, breakfast has been removed from the list. One of the only activities I actually attend.

Instead_, 9:00: Urgent Meeting, Room 745_ is clearly stained in purple on my skin. Great. I'm supposed to skip breakfast to meet with Coin and her army? I don't think so. But a tiny ounce of curiosity begins to creep up on me. I want to know why they so urgently need to see me when I've clearly told them I won't be their Mockingjay. I am already a symbol of rebellion, apparently; enforcing that idea to the innocent people in the districts and the Capitol is just another way of hurting the people that I love. That is something I will never stop doing. Hurting them.

My mother and sister may be in district Thirteen but that doesn't mean that there isn't more people out there to hurt. What about the people in twelve, those that weren't found by the raid that picked up my family and Gale? What about Madge, Greasy Sae, everyone else in the hob? Peeta's family are still baking away, completely unaware of the rebellion that has captured their son. There are still people at risk and becoming the Mockingjay would only emphasize this. Peeta agrees with me – people don't need me to persuade them to join the rebellion. They already hate the Capitol enough as it is.

Still, I'm curious. When I leave my room to see Peeta waiting for me, the same calling inked on his wrist I know I'm not going to be able to resist going. "Let's go see what's so urgent," I sigh as we step into the elevator. Wordlessly, our hands find each other. These elevators bring terrible memories back for us both. I have to blink to stop the vision of Cinna being dragged away from resurfacing.

Apparently, Room 745 is far away from our quarters. The elevator plummets down into the depths of Thirteen, parts that I have yet to visit. We both have to swipe our fingers over the recognition device – looks like normal citizens aren't allowed down here. "I wonder what they want," I muse, still holding onto Peeta's hand. I feel bad for leading him on still, but I can't help it. It soothes me.

"Maybe Plutarch has a new outfit he wants an opinion on," he jokes. I can't help but crack a smile, and the elevator doors open into the room. We are a symbol of unity, holding hands, smiling and laughing. My face falls when I spot Gale. He turns away from me, wearing his trademark scowl, refusing to look me in the eye. Great. I haven't even been up for half an hour and I've already managed to annoy him. That must be a new record.

Wordlessly, Peeta and I separate our hands and take two seats on the table. For the first time I really take a good look at the room. Huge TV screens coat two entire walls, and the table is positioned so that anybody sat on the far side of it can see each screen. They hold a hundred different images – some places I recognise, some I don't. There's the outside to Snow's mansion, the station that brings the tributes to the Capitol. Most of the rooms are unfamiliar, although there are some people in there that I know.

"Cinna," I say, standing, a sense of urgency in my voice that I haven't heard in a long time. He's tied up in what looks like a cell, but he's breathing. "He's alive," I breathe, a weight lifting off of my shoulders that I didn't even know was there.

"There are a lot of people that still need saving from the Capitol, Katniss." A cold, steel voice emerges from the far side of the room. Coin. I hadn't even seen her enter the room, but she's here now, walking towards me. My shoulders sink; I know what they want from me. The Mockingjay. This is why I am here – I should never have turned up. I should have gone to breakfast as normal, although something tells me I might have been punished for the direct attempt at disobedience.

Peeta stands with me, inching a little closer towards me. I can't deny that I want him there. "Look, President. Katniss has already refused to be your Mockingjay. Hasn't she done enough already?" My eyes widen a little – I don't want him to be punished. From the corner of the room, I can feel Gale glowering.

"That's up to her to decide. There's something you all need to see," she replies, her voice as monotonous as ever. If I hadn't seen her giving her speeches to her people, I would doubt that she was able to express any emotion whatsoever. I suppose that's exactly what politicians are – emotionless, but powerful when they need to be. I should know; I've met Snow. Her grey hair shines as she leans forward to press a button, and for a moment I find myself wondering yet again if it's real.

My attention shifts, though, when the screens flick to another scene, one that I recognise. It's an aerial view of almost everything in twelve. I can spot the Hob and all of the other places near the Seam. The justice building, the school, the market, all of the Merchant's shops. I can even spot the bakery where Peeta grew up, where he gave me the bread. I can see my house, too, and just make out the fence Gale and I snuck under so many times. I don't understand why Coin is showing us this; showing me my home only makes me want to leave Thirteen, not become her coveted Mockingjay.

That is when the bombing starts.

Everything I know is on fire. The place where I was born, where every memory of my Father takes place is burning to the ground. I can't watch, but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen. "We've got to do something," I yell, tears streaming down my face. "Where are your soldiers? Why aren't they fighting this?" I choke out the words, rushing towards Coin. I would do anything to make this destruction stop. I turn towards the screen again, just in time to watch the school explode in a burst of orange and red flames. The kids didn't stand a chance.

"It's already happened," she says. "It's a recording." Her voice is as emotionless as ever, save for the tiny ounce of pity in there. I do not need her to pity me. I turn to Gale and Peeta for help, realising for the first time that they have yet to say anything. Peeta is still sat at the table, eyes glued to the screen, tears pouring down his cheeks. Gale has his head between his knees, fists balled, but I instantly know that he's seen this before. He kept it from me. If he hadn't, he would be here, fighting Coin alongside me to save everybody in Twelve.

I feel like punching the woman. Shoving her, throwing a chair at her or something. Anything to make her show some sign of emotion, some sign that she actually cared about the people that died there. Then, all of a sudden, I realise it's not her I need to be hurting. It's Snow. This is the work of the Capitol, the merciless killing machine that is the ruler of these innocent people. I can't sit back and watch anymore, I have to do something. I have to stop them. I can't let more innocent people die.

I thought that staying in the sidelines would help the people I cared about, protect them. I was wrong. The Capitol will never stop trying to hurt me. Not until I stop them myself.

"Fine," I spit the words out, looking Coin directly in the eye. "I'll be your Mockingjay."


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own the Hunger Games. **Sucks to be me.

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Everybody is looking at me. I've just made one of the biggest decisions in my life in a split second; I should be worried right now. I am worried right now. I don't want to be the Mockingjay, but I have no other choice. How else can I fight back? I'm not one to hide behind the scenes, pressing buttons and giving out strategic orders. My decisions are made in the spur of the moment; my actions have consequences that I am always willing to face. Somehow, I cope. I'm no Gamemaker.

I know that this is a choice I should feel confident over, and it's not. I feel like I've just signed my soul over to the devil, and Coin isn't particularly helping with that image. Her lips are curved in a small, satisfied smile. A thought flies through my brain, a tiny flicker of a doubt: did she deliberately leave Twelve alone for this very purpose?

I push all doubts aside. I am no longer in a position to doubt the path that I have chosen, it has been set in stone for quite some time now. Judging by the expression on Gale's face right now, the majority of people have been expecting me to become the Mockingjay for a while now. Thirteen, the entire army of rebels, has simply been waiting for me to step up and accept my fate.

Despite the fact that I'm worried, scared even – it feels good. Surely if becoming their Mockingjay has managed to extract some sort of emotion from Coin – a smile – I'm already winning. It's not as though I'll be in this alone, either. If my instincts are right and the rebels have been living in anticipation of this development since my rescue from the games, they'll have plans for what to do with me. I have given myself over to the cause of the rebels, the anti-capitol movement. Unfortunately, it doesn't look as though I'm going to be able to be breaking the rules for much longer.

I'm sure I'll find a way around it.

The screens flicker back to the scenes they had depicted before; my heart gives a pang of grief as I see Cinna. He's still alive. Suddenly, I realise that I could have done so much for him already. "I want Cinna," I say firmly, looking Coin in the eye. Behind me, Gale rolls his eyes and Peeta smiles for the first time since we saw the bombing. For one split second, I turn to Gale and give him a look that means business. I'm not happy with him. I might have told Coin I'll be her team mascot, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten what he kept from me. His face falls; he knows that I know. I hope he feels guilty. He should do.

Maybe I should have done my bargaining before I told her I'd do it. Her face is back to the emotionless canvas it was before, save for a slight scowl. "Rescuing Cinna would put a lot of people at risk, Katniss," she says darkly. I know what she's implying – the lives of the rebels are worth the same as his. Cinna would want to die for the cause. I know that, but I'm not about to let him become some kind of martyr purely because it's something he wants.

"The rebellion needs somebody like Cinna. Somebody who is able to make two kids from district Twelve look as though they could survive through anything, several times." Somebody that can show Panem that the girl on fire hasn't gone out." I couldn't have put it better myself. Once again, Peeta steps forward, saving me with his remarkable ability to weave his words into anything he wants. They should have picked him as their Mockingjay, not me. _No_, my conscience whispers at me again. _Peeta would never have agreed to be a mascot for a war._

I step in line with him, and we radiate power. Peeta is steady, reasonable, righteous. I am reckless, deadly, motivated. We truly make a formidable team. If only Gale would put his jealousy aside and join us. Coin seems to be tossing Peeta's words around in her head, her lips are pursed in the way that my Mother's used to if something didn't quite go to plan with one of the new treatments she had come up with. I can tell that we're winning.

"I need Cinna," I say simply. "He'll calm me down, make me see straight. I can't be your Mockingjay without that." Instead of being fearless, looking Coin in the eye, I choose to use my age, my small frame to my advantage. After all, I am only seventeen. I am not even an adult. I am a victim of the Capitol, somebody who should have been thrown into therapy rather than battle. Coin knows this, and when she looks away I am almost certain that we have won.

"I'll see what I can do." With that, we are dismissed. I leave with Peeta, exiting in the way that we entered. A team, joined by the hand. Two messed up teenagers fuelled by hope. It's wrong of me, to do this in front of Gale, but he deserves it. I know Peeta would never have kept Twelve's destruction from me. When I leave the elevator to return to my room, the identity sensor stops me, asks for my wrist. Annoyed, I place my hand in the hole it offers me, expecting more scans. Instead, my schedule is removed by a series of jets and strange chemicals I don't recognise the smell of, only to be replaced with another. Peeta is given the same treatment.

Gale, on the other hand, has no change in schedule. He is to report to the Weapon's area, where he tells me Beetee is working on a few things. They're looking at how snares could be made with wires, electrified much like the fence outside of Twelve under Thread's rule. For a moment, I'm happy for him, that he's managed to put his skills to use. I very nearly offer my own opinion to him; tell him to make sure that there is nothing like the tell-tale buzz that used to alert the two of us to the danger. Then I remember, and I glare daggers at him.

Peeta and I, however, have been directed to go to a completely different area of Thirteen. It seems like I'm almost being given a tour of the place today, the amount of travelling I'm doing. I almost suggest that we walk and take the stairs which, if it weren't for the rigid rules that Thirteen runs by – would be rotting from disuse. Then I remember Peeta's prosthetic leg. He might not complain about it, but I know him well enough to tell that it doesn't quite work as well as his natural one. He'll never be able to keep up with me – but then again I don't think he would have been able to in the first place. Instead, we decide to walk part of the way. Peeta is slow, in more than one way. He makes the right choices and thinks them through slowly and calmly, whereas I am rash and leading a life filled with the wrong choices.

The walk gives me time to think. A distant part of me tries to imagine that I am back in the woods, on a hunting trip, tending the stairs. But there are more pressing matters at hand, terrible weights I have on my shoulders. I shouldn't be allowed to think to myself, I am filled with doubt and terror. "What if she doesn't save him?" I blurt, fully aware that I hadn't got a concrete answer out of Coin. Cinna was the only friend I had when I started the games, before I truly trusted Peeta. It feels as though I am the only friend he has now, I am the only person that has the power to save him. "I didn't do enough," I shake my head, almost disgusted with myself. "I should've made her promise."

We've been walking apart for a while, heading towards another elevator that will lead us to the right place. "She'll do it," Peeta says confidently, casually looping his arm around me and giving me a comforting squeeze. It's so normal that I almost wish I hadn't let our relationship get to this point. I'm not entirely sure if I want this or not, if it's right, if it's wrong. In another world, I'm sure Peeta and I would have been the happiest couple alive. In a world without the Capitol, without the complication of Gale's jealousy, I would be more than happily to walk anywhere with his arm around my waist. Without my scarring childhood, I would feel free to love him. Then again, if it hadn't been for the bread, I don't think I would have ever trusted him. If he hadn't given me those loaves, it wouldn't have been wrong to kill him in the arena instead of holding out those berries, because he had already saved my life several times over.

Despite this, it still feels a little too close for comfort and I shrink away, feeling the loss of warmth as he removes his arm. He would never let his pain show across his face, but I can feel the rejection radiating off of him. I look away, trying to push the guilt as far away as possible. Surely I have enough on my plate right about now, even without the added drama if a love triangle. There I was, under the impression that staying single was a safe route, one that would keep me out of the dramatic troubles girls my age have. Apparently, it just over complicates things even more. As I said, I'm plagued with the consequences of my choices.

We walk in silence and it suits me, gives me time to really think over the fact that I've just pledged myself to the anti-Capitol movement. So I can't help but feel a little annoyed when Peeta breaks the silence, but I try to keep that to myself. "Why did you do it?" The words seem to tumble out of his mouth in a blur, something I would normally expect from myself, or maybe Gale. Maybe he had been doing some thinking of his own as we wandered the corridors.

We reach the elevator and press the button, stopping and facing each other. "I couldn't sit in the sidelines anymore, Peeta. Coin was right. There are so many people left that need saving from the Capitol." I don't know what I'm expecting in his reaction - pride, maybe? Acceptance, at least. Instead, he just looks a little bit sad.

"You couldn't have let me have another week of thinking you were safe?" He smiles, trying to make it come out as a joke, but even I can tell that it's so much more than that. Wordlessly, I step into the elevator and immediately pinch my eyes shut in the hope that the memories will keep to themselves for once. Naturally, they come back more vivid than ever, loud and bright and real. Cinna being dragged away. The first arena. The second. Being taken away from my family after the reaping.

I am a terrible person. I can't help it. I grab Peeta, take him completely by surprise and lock him in an embrace. I know he would never complain, but that it is completely and utterly immoral to be treating him like this. It's not fair. But it works. The memories fade away into the background as he calms me, just as the nightmares do each morning. The elevator doors open and for a moment we stand there, locked in our embrace until the happy, wistful sighs from overzealous Capitol rebels flood us.

I step away from him and into the room, my cheeks already burning. The place itself is a stark contrast to the TV Room I was in just ten, fifteen minutes beforehand. In fact, it's not unlike the room in which my prep team accosted me several times before the games. The thought sends a shiver down my spine - not at the idea of the games, but rather at the fact that it seems I am going to be attacked today. Instead of mutts, my enemies will come in the form of brutal wax strips, heated eyelash curlers and pots of powders and colours of all sorts. Perhaps I should have expected this, after agreeing to be the Mockingjay.

I am going back on the big screen.

The urge to groan when my prep team bounce into the room almost overcomes me. The appear happy as ever despite looking a little less plump than usual... Who would've thought it? My gossiping, over emotional prep team, Capitol rebels? Venia is beside herself when she sees me, a huge grin spreading across her face as she bounds towards me. For a moment, I think she's handcuffed, and then I realise she's just hiding something from me. _Please don't be wax strips, please don't be wax strips.  
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Instead, she hands me a leather bound, expensive looking book. "We were waiting for you," she says simply, indicating that I should open it.

When I do, my eyes open wide with shock and wonder. The first heavy page is decorated with the most exquisitely detailed sketch of me. Except this woman is not me - she is headstrong, fearless, indestructible, and more importantly kitted out in a devastatingly formidable suit and holding a long, slender black bow. Something this beautiful could only be the work of one person - Cinna. In his neat, italic handwriting at the bottom, he has written five simple words.

_I'm still betting on you._

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_**A/N - I hope you liked it. Please review!**_  
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	3. Chapter 3

Katniss is an incredibly difficult character to capture and I can only hope that I'm doing her justice... Honestly, let me know if I'm doing something wrong xD. As always, enjoy reading and please review!

My inspiration for this chapter:  
"Make me a bird, so I could fly far, far, far away from here." – Forrest Gump (1994)

**I don't own The Hunger Games.**

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We settle back into our routine as though nothing has changed. Venia, Flavius and Octavia quickly busy themselves with preparing me for God knows what. I feel completely and utterly safe in the knowledge that no matter what I face, my eyebrows will be shaped, my nails well kept and my legs will be completely hair free. Mostly I think about Cinna, flicking through the sketch book he left me. Every time I turn the page I'm rewarded with something incredible – I'd almost forgotten how talented he was. How talented he still is.  
If Coin doesn't save him, I don't know what I'll do. This process would certainly be a heck of a lot easier if he were here to hold my hand, smile at me reassuringly. I know it's ridiculous to want him here purely for that, but I do. I don't think I ever really appreciated how much I relied on him before each of the games – I wouldn't be alive now, if it weren't for him and his magical costumes. I would never have been the girl on fire; we would have had no sponsors. I would never have left the cave, and Peeta would have died beside me.

They're depressing thoughts. I shake my head – much to the chagrin of Octavia, who is trying to plaster some strange powder on my face – almost as though I'm trying to expel the thoughts. To be honest, it doesn't really work and it just lets loose a clip that's been holding back my hair for the past ten minutes or so. The prep team groan as though it's the scandal of the century, with Flavius moving faster than I thought was possible in his haste to sweep the hair aside.

There is nothing to describe my emotion when they bring the wax out. "Thirteen don't have strips," Venia tells me, a small smile of anticipation on her face. "We'll have to use hot wax, instead." My eyes widen in horror at the thought – wax alone was bad enough, but hot wax? It's lathered on me, scalding hot. Is this not a form of torture in itself? I make a mental note to mention it to Gale; maybe he could give the weapon's department the idea. I'm sure that half of District Twelve would give up their secrets to have the hot wax taken away – but then I remember that there is no District Twelve.

A part of me wants to go back, to visit the place that I once called home – that, given the chance, I would still call home. The house in the Victor's Village never held much allure for me; it is the small house with the rotting blue shutters that I want to go back to. The rock where Gale and I would meet every Sunday just after dawn that had been worn soft over the years where we'd sat there, alone in wait of the other. Sometimes we would squeeze onto it together and just talk – about anything, everything. It was a place of trust and freedom, and unless Coin suddenly decides that it is important for me to visit, I will never know if these places were burnt to the ground.

The thought of it puts the wax and the pain it causes into perspective – apparently, me having a completely hairless set of legs is vitally important to the rebellion. I'm not about to question the word of Plutarch and Fulvia, who are to direct a series of short films they're hoping Beetee can air all over Panem. Of course, in my opinion this whole hairless thing is an overrated Capitol idea – which is exactly something a rebellion against the Capitol should steer clear of. I much prefer feeling natural – I already miss the fluffy curls that graced my legs. Once upon a time, I needed them to keep me warm. I suppose I can only be grateful that it's highly unlikely that I'll ever be in that situation again.

Eventually, my legs are completely smooth and bronzed over with some strange powder, and my face has been attended to by the careful hands of my prep team. From what I can tell, it's far from beauty base zero, but I'm hoping that they haven't completely overdone it. Judging by the huge grin on their faces, they're really pleased with what they've come up with. Unfortunately, that does absolutely nothing to make me feel better – the Capitol's residents are only ever please with something if it is completely over the top – something anybody would be able to see from the gold tattoos that decorate Venia's face, Flavius' orange curls and Octavia's light evergreen skin.

I'm not wrong to be worried – they hand me a mirror with reassuring smiles and carefully scrutinize my face for the signs of my opinion on it. I'm momentarily shocked at the reflection – this woman is not me. I do not recognise her, I certainly don't have a clue who it is. They've transformed me from a plain, weathered seventeen year old girl to a woman who is defiant, imposing, and above all – sexy. My eyebrows have been drawn on black in an angle that makes my face almost look rebellious in itself. For a moment, I think that even Peeta wouldn't recognise me. He's off with his own prep team, probably being turned into my male counterpart.

I can't help but feel guilty that I don't like it, so I try and smile at the three adults who look as though they are toddlers that have been given a new toy. Me. I catch my reflection in the mirror again – it is a small smile, not nearly convincing enough, but somehow the makeup hides it, radiates confidence. "Oh, we just knew that you would love it!" Octavia gushes, her grin doubling in size – something I didn't think would be possible. "We have so much more freedom here, with you," she tells me matter-of-factly. "Before, Cinna wouldn't let us do anything over dramatic with you," they all shake their heads sadly in agreement, before gushing over me some more.

There's not a lot that I can say. I certainly wish Cinna was here now, to calm them down, stop them from turning me into somebody I'm not. I honestly have no clue how he managed to reign them in before, because I am powerless to stop them. Maybe I am too nice. It's a ridiculous thought, really. I am Katniss, the girl on fire, survivor of the Hunger Games and the Capitol's wrath. Yet I am reduced to this, too scared to hurt the feelings of a few fashionistas. Then again, I'm a survivor. I'm pretty sure I can get through this.

By now, it's become quite apparent that Coin knew exactly what she was doing earlier on in the morning; I slip into my costume and am lead to the filming studio where, it seems, they have been expecting me for days. Judging by Fulvia's expression, it was a few days too long and the hassle of having me attended to by the prep team is yet another thing that has taken longer than it should have. Despite being walked past several mini studios with several different sets, I am placed in front of a green screen rather than something a little ... Realistic.

"You're _absolutely_ going to love our slogan!" Fulvia grins at me, as though she is building up to something mindblowing, monumental. The room is almost eerily silent, save for the whirring of the computers in the background, and everybody is watching me, waiting. I can tell by the small smiles threatening to break out onto their faces that each and every one of them are about to burst with excitement. After all, this is a rebellion, and you can't have a rebellion without a slogan. Me? I'm worried, extremely worried. I don't do scripts – they need Peeta for that. I'm trying desperately to keep my face neutral, but I'm not entirely sure how well I'm pulling it off. I never was a brilliant actress.

"People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!" That's the line. I can tell by the way they present it that they've spent months, maybe years working it out and are really proud of it. I'm the only person in the room that hasn't heard it yet, so all eyes are on me – then again, all eyes are always on me. Honestly, it seems like a bit of a mouthful to me, a stiff line that nobody would ever say in an actual conversation. If I were truly standing before the people of Panem, the last words that would spurt from my mouth would be them. I know, I've been in that situation before. "It's wonderful," I tell her, smiling and nodding as though I really mean it. I don't.

The room bursts with excitement, just as I expected, and I let myself smile and squee along with them. It's fun, just to be able to laugh and be happy about something, even if it is about a lie. Eventually, though, Plutarch puts his serious face on and tells us to calm down and get filming, so that's exactly what we get to doing. I'm all ready and suited up to stand in front of the cameras and roll the film, but as a last minute addition Octavia runs on and pins my Mockingjay badge on the suit. I can't believe I forgot it, so I thank her profusely and look directly at the camera.

I feel absolutely ridiculous. If I were a real Mockingjay, I would have flown far away from here by now. I am simply a seventeen year old girl from the Seam – a place that has now been reduced to ashes. For the first time since this morning, I focus on the pain that the destruction of Twelve has brought me. The idea of my home being burnt to a crisp ricochets around my head and I let it roam free. If I'm to please Coin and save Cinna, then this needs to be good. It needs to be mind-blowingly convincing and inspirational.

The cameras have been running for a few seconds now, and I gather up all of my strength, pain and courage and look the camera – my audience – in the eye. Taking in a huge breath, I steel myself and yell.

"People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"

There's a moment of silence, and I hear a _thunk_ as the cameras are turned off. I'm actually pretty pleased with how it went, and the room automatically bursts into applause. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks I've done well. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a lone figure in the corner of the room, somebody I haven't spotted before now. Haymitch. He's sulking, by the looks of it – and sober. By some miracle, Thirteen must have managed to get him off of the alcohol. My bet is that as soon as this rebellion is over he'll go to wherever there is alcohol and start drowning himself in the stuff again. From what I've seen of Thirteen, they'd be too stingy to let him have the occasional drink. I make a mental note to ask my Mother to sneak me some of the alcohol they have in the medical wings.

"Haymitch," his name forms on my lips and I leave the set, head towards him. The closer I get the more I realise that he's not joining in the celebration with everybody else. Maybe it reminds him too much of the pre-Games, the interviews. Something tells me that there's something more to his expression though. Disappointment? I hope not. "Well, what did you think?" I ask, trying to sound confident and uncaring. I'm not sure if it works. After all, Haymitch has always been brutally honest with me – he'd tell me if it was terrible.

"We'll see what it's like when they're done with it," he shrugs. Not getting a straight answer from him is even worse than him telling me that it was crap.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that they're going to edit it, put you in a place you've never visited. You already look like somebody else. What I just saw will be nothing like the finished product, and it will be even less like you." With that, he walks away, leaving me to my own thoughts. My over excited mood has faded almost immediately, replaced by the feeling of self doubt. I can't ignore it, and I have to admit that he's right. It all depends on whether they want _me_ to be the Mockingjay, or somebody that they make me into.

I think I can be either, but I would like to be me.

* * *

This is nerve-wracking. I'm back in the TV room and the memories are haunting me. I have Peeta right beside me, and I am ready to bury my face in his neck as soon as the screens explode into bombs. They don't, though. Instead, my face looms on the screen, except it is not my face. It's something similar, sure, but it's an older version of me. I look sexy, rebellious, and nothing like the scared little girl I was in the Games, the girl that I am sure Panem remember.

There are wisps of smoke rising from me, and I look as though I have just been extinguished or am about to burst into flames. I've been so captivated with how different I look that I've barely noticed the setting they've stuck me in. The screen Katniss is in a barren battlefield with bodies strewn all around her, a place of death and fear. The screen me takes a big breath and yells out to the camera with conviction, but it's terrible. Haymitch was right, this is nothing like me or what the Mockingjay is about. It reminds me far too much of the Capitol.

The room is completely silent. Quickly, I scan the faces of everybody who has just seen the short film, and nobody looks overjoyed or excited like they had on set. Even Peeta looks disappointed, and I didn't think I would ever be able to disappoint him. Still, nobody speaks, simply looking blankly in at the screen in a state of shock. From behind, I hear a door open, but I don't bother to see who it is. Probably just one of the film crew, I didn't think they were all here. Maybe they were late.

"Oh, Katniss was right. You do need me."

The voice is one that I recognise, one that I love and miss. I swing round in disbelief, a gasp forming on my lips.

Cinna.

* * *

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